What Love Can Do
by Copacetic
Summary: This was a creative writing project inspired by Spashley, as well as the song 'Moments' by Emerson Drive. I took out my original characters and made it Spashley, and my friend told me to submit it so here I am. I also am not good at this stuff.


What Love Can Do

We want to believe things like this come easy for us. Realizing for the first time we are merely mortals. Looking in a mirror and seeing ourselves for what we truly are. Looking through the window facing the backyard and seeing our families move naturally without us. That's me, the daydreamer. Looking in through the windows at smiling faces and wishing it was I. We see these moments flash and know it is only a matter of time until we are brought back to reality harshly. We dig in the trashcan, remove our dinner, and pretend. If only I knew the father at the head of the table; he has a disgusting child porn addiction. That beautiful wife he has, cheating on him with a sick eighty-eight year old man. The daughter, head cheerleader at school, part-time drug dealer, full time slut. I go back to my bedroll in a dark decrepit alley and wait for my next adventure. The life of a bum, at least I don't beg.

The sun licking my face with a heavy tongue is a slap in the face. I know I am worthless and small compared to you but really, do you have to rub it in my face? I go about my morning stopping at the train station to make myself presentable. Walking slowly down the bustling street, I ponder why I try so hard. Finally reaching the immaculate doors of the public library, I feel tiny and unimportant. The doors swing open as I am confronted by a blast of cool air. My loose over-worn tee and baggy cargos stolen from the depths of Hell get me in the door. My long brunette locks pulled back by a rubber band and my Cons stolen from a garage complete the image. I make it past doors, desks, and librarians heavily laden with security waiting for someone to take my arm. It never happens; it has never happened in the seventeen Saturdays I have been here. I think they feel sorry for me, or maybe they see my purpose and give true love a chance. Sometimes I wonder how I got to this place. I had everything I ever wanted growing up, materialistically, that is. My parents, as vacant as they were, were loaded. My father's money came from being a famous rosk-star, and my mom's from being a business mogul. Match made in Hell. I ran away, greed and hate weren't the life for me; my parents didn't even look for me. So here I am sitting in an enormous library reading Vonnegut and waiting for _her. _

Three hours and two classics later, the doors open abruptly and the room is suddenly warmer. In she walks, cutting the air like a knife through butter. To anyone else she would seem bookish and nerdy, but to me, she was "it". The reason for my existence. Looking decidedly indie today in a snug light blue Format tee, skinny jeans, and checkered Vans, her attire begs for isolation and obscurity. I watch as she saunters to her favorite section, classics. She swipes an Orwell and retreats to her favorite removed part of the library. Taken! It's taken! I scream in my head. Scanning the room I notice they are all taken. What's gonna happen now? This is really beginning to be a pretty shitty day. Suddenly, an idea hits her and she switches directions. She's heading back to the front. No wait, she's walking towards me. Now, just inches away, she looks at me expectantly.

"What do you want," I blurt out unceremoniously.

"I was just wondering if I could sit here? Unless it's taken."

Uh..."uh."

"No, it's okay I'll sit on the floor."

"No, wait! You can sit." It comes out halfway between and whisper and a scream.

Great, now they probably will kick me out. I scan the room as she sits, and that old hag is smiling at me! I look back at blue eyes, oh have I not mentioned the eyes that are as blue as oceans. That's what I call her blue eyes, I would really like to lick those blue eyes. I'm so glad she can't read my mind right now. She's opened her book and is already on page twenty by the time I realize I'm staring. I go back to pretending to read so she doesn't think I am creepy, but my mind is totally on the beautiful blonde before me. I can't believe that after all these Saturdays she is finally in front of me.

"I know you watch me."

It's a statement not an accusation but how do you respond to that?

"It's okay, you don't seem dangerous or anything. I was just wondering, why, I guess."

"I think, perhaps, I am just drawn to you." I answer sincerely finally finding my voice.

"Oh well, why have you never said hi if I draw you in so?"

"Well, I guess, because I thought you were too good for me."

She's deep in thought and I know I have to listen intently to everything she tells me next. I can't believe how much I trust blue eyes. She just looks so lonely all the time, so, so, alone. What would I know though, I sleep in dark alleys seven days a week. What could a girl like that possibly see in me? Maybe today I will get to see her, really see this girl who I could see myself falling in love with…

"I watch you, too, you know. That's why I sat here today. I feel safe in your presence, and when I saw my seat was taken and you were alone, I took a chance. I feel like we have been in a relationship this whole time, but I don't even know your name."

I hear and feel every word she says. I want so bad to let her in, but how do I do that when everyone lets me down? I guess I take a chance.

"_Ashley,_" I state dumbly in a barely audible whisper.

"What?"

"My name is Ashley."

"I've never heard anything more beautiful in my life. My name is Spencer."

"_Spencer_." I try it out, and love the feeling of it rolling melodiously off of my tongue.

Though I can't say I have learned much throughout the past few years, today I learned one word, hope.


End file.
